Autodidact: (n) a self-taught person. Poet: (n) a person who writes poetry.
Autodidactpoet: (n) A blog full of thoughts from a self-taught writer.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

Witnessing the World

After going to Haiti, I struggled to name the
feeling of both blessing and burden that is witnessing suffering.While there, and after I came home, I
wrestled with what to do with the knowledge I had obtained of the suffering in
the world.The suffering of the world
and her people became real to me in ways it just cannot if you do not witness
it.When I came home, I wrote:

“I don’t have children, but the analogy that keeps
coming to mind is that it feels like the difference between knowing that babies
cry and hearing your baby cry.

I knew the world was crying.Now, it is my world that is crying.This world – the one that I live in – with you, right here, right
now, this world is crying.Our world.”

And that is what I mean by witnessing.I mean that the experience, the pain, the
suffering – it is no longer something that just happens to people
somewhere.It is no longer something
that happens to others.It is a deep,
profound, abiding knowledge and acknowledgment that this thing is part of my world.Witnessing
is not only letting the experience into your vision, but also letting it into
your heart so it becomes part of you.Witnessing allows that thing to change you – perhaps only for a second,
but you feel a shift and you know: there is part of you that will never be the
same.It is painful.It is not easy.It is worth it.

This week, I have been wading through two
children’s stories – their actively lived, current realities – that broke
something inside of me.I know I’m young
and haven’t practiced that long yet, but these stories both fell in my Top 5
Worst Things.And let me tell you: it
takes a lot to get to my Top 5 Worst Things.

This week, I met with a child here from another
country who has had no intervention: no education, no therapy, no interaction
with other children.She is rarely to
never taken out of her home (she does not go to school).She rarely even comes out of her
bedroom.She has no functional skills,
no communication, no play skills.She
has severe behaviors.And somehow, from
the other side of the world, she ended up in my office.

So I did all of the things I know how to do: I got
my favorite interpreter and I explained everything slowly and carefully to
parents with such limited understanding.I did a functional behavior assessment.I emailed teams of people to rally their support and expertise.I sent them to the severe behavior unit.And soon, they will go back home to the other
side of the world.Soon, they will be
back in a culture with no understanding of their child’s needs.Soon, they will be back in a culture where it
is expected that a child like my client will be kept hidden and locked
away.Soon, they will be back in a place
where she has no access to intervention, education, stimulation.They will return to a place where this is
just the way of life.

My job?My
job is to let them go.

This week, I had a child in elementary school for
whom violence, and instability, and trauma are part of his daily existence, look
in my face and ask me if I could help him stop getting beaten at home.“Can
you tell them to stop beating me?” he asked.“Can
you tell them not to beat kids?”

Damn, y’all.I would give a part of my body to be able to say to that small human, “yes.Yes of course.Of course I will keep you safe.Of course I will make sure you are loved for
the miracle you are.Of course I will
protect you, and I will make sure that everyone in your life knows that you are
to be loved, and seen, and heard, and protected from harm.”

But I couldn’t say that, because what that child
needs is honesty, and he doesn’t need some sensitive, big-hearted therapist
making big promises she can’t deliver.If
has that much strength, and perseverance, and fight in that tiny frame that he
can look at me, a theoretically helpful stranger, and ask that question – he deserves
my honesty.

“Can you
tell them not to beat kids?” he asked.I took a breath.I grounded my
feet on the floor and felt my body in the room with him and I knew that the
most I could honestly say to that child was, “I know things are so hard for
you.I am going to try really hard to
help you and your family.Thank you for
being brave and telling me how hard things are.You are brave and strong.I am
proud of you for being so brave.It is
so important that you tell other adults when you get hurt.”And then I called Child Protective Services
and talked to workers in an overworked, underpaid, stressed and hurting agency
in a stressed and hurting city.And then
I talked with the child’s caregivers. And then I called every other agency I could
think of, and I referred them to all the places I could.

And then they left my office.Now, having done all I can do, my job is to
find a way to let them go.

I used to feel this pressure that I had to have
all the answers and fix all of the broken.As I get older and supposedly wiser and more skilled, I am able to turn
that pressure down.I am one
person.I have no magic wand.I can call other fallible humans working
within broken systems trying to change equally broken lives.I can make recommendations and say things
that I have learned and that I believe in my heart are right.I cannot make change happen.I can provide the car, and the gas, and point
them in another direction – but I can never drive.

Mostly, I don’t want to drive.Mostly, I just want to point out the
sunshine, and the landmarks along the way, and to show them how very far they
have driven.Mostly, I want to remind
them to stop and get gas, and to change the oil, and I want to be there when it
rains and when the transmission breaks.Mostly, I want to show them how very amazing they are for driving so
safely all this way.

But here is what I hope is remembered: I want to
be remembered as someone who truly witnessed their lives.I want them to know the ways that the gates
of my heart swung open to allow them to enter.I want them to feel the ways that they changed me.I want them to know that it mattered to me
that we spent those few hours together.Because
it did matter.When I witness the world
in this way, I can expand my heart to hold pain and promise that I never knew
existed.

When I teach mindfulness, I often use this
meditation: “Whatever it is, it is already here.Let me feel it.”I love this meditation particularly because I
think many of us fight and struggle against those emotions and stories we hold,
thinking that if we fight them they will go away.That if we do not name them, if we do not
face them, if we do not bring them to the light, they will cease to exist.But there is no reason to fight: whatever
terrors lie beneath the surface, they are our
terrors.We are already living with
them.We might as well name them, bring
them out, and offer them a sandwich.Why
not make friends with those most difficult and painful pieces of ourselves?

This is how I feel about the world.When I can see, and feel, and name the
injustice, the suffering, the beautiful, the magic, and the pain, then I can be
fully human.When I can be witness to
the racism, sexism, homophobia, pain, oppression, and violence, I am only
allowing myself to name and be present with what is already here.By doing this, I am allowing myself to enter
fully into the world.

I’m not
going to lie: this is not a picnic.In
fact, it fucking sucks.But this is also
the way I can feel more honestly and authentically alive.This is the way I can feel more honestly and
authentically human.This is the way I
can feel more like the person I want to be: a person who is bold in the face of
injustice.A person who is compassionate
in the face of suffering.A person who
is brave and gentle and who breathes this world in knowing I am part of
it.A person who breathes into this
world like an act of rebellious, radical, truth-telling, change-making
love.

Will
you witness this world with me?Will you
also breathe in this fully alive and human existence?All that we turn our eyes from – let us see
it and name it and let it penetrate our hearts.Whether we name it or not, it is already here.

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About Me

"My continuing passion is to part a curtain,
that invisible shadow that falls between people,
the veil of indifference to each other's presence,
each other's wonder, each other's human plight."
Eudora Welty